“Looks a nipper, he do, squire,” said the sailor. “He could take hold pretty tight, eh?”
“Take hold and keep hold,” said Mark, who could not help a feeling of envy creeping into his breast—envy of the easy-looking, active little man who was to be his father’s companion over the seas to wonderland.
“He looks as if he would,” said the sailor after a few moments’ pause. “I say, youngster, I’d rayther be ins with him than outs.”
“What! rather be friends than enemies?”
“That’s it, youngster. I say, what are you going to be—first-mate, and skipper arter?”
“No,” said Mark, speaking in the same low tone as his questioner; “I’m not going to be a sailor.”
“Lor!”
“It is not decided what I’m to be yet.”
“Arn’t it now? Why, if you’d come to sea along o’ us what a lot I could ha’ taught you surety. Why, I could ha’ most made a man of you.”
“Here, Widgeon,” said the captain sharply, “take that back to Mr Gregory, and tell him I shall be aboard to-morrow.”